a little help please
by killfox13
Summary: jacks a loner singer trying to find out what the fuck to do with himself, living in new York as an Irish immigrant and trying to make a living while looking for something to for fill his life.
1. Chapter 1 intro

Ever since jack was born, everybody told him he was special. That he would grow up to be a famous singer or musician of some kind, and though he dreamed that it would come true, he knew he would hate it, all the people he would have to talk too, all the shit people do in the real world, he would have to leave his house and socialize, the one thing he hated the most. He never was good with people, he had a facebook account for two days before he deleted it from the amount of friend requests, even though being a hermit jack was well know by people, he would perform at bars and events to make money so people knew who he was, but when someone would try and talk to him they would usually get short replies or a nod here and there before they would lose interest and leave to find someone to fuck or at least find someone worth talking too.

The only time he would ever go out to a party or disco was if his very few close friends would pester him too live a little and to "find someone". True was jack was 23 and single, and a virgin. He wasn't bad looking or anything; he was even told by some people he was very attractive. But we all know looks don't maker anymore, and not in a good way like if you were fuck ugly but had a great personality, but in the way that if you where fuck ugly but acted like a dick and wore nice shit you could fuck anybody you liked. Also jacks biggest problem was he didn't try, he never did. If he knew a girl he liked, he would avoid her so it wouldn't look like he did. even if he knew she liked him back, no go.

Currently he was dressed in a bathrobe and pyjama bottoms looking out his window sitting at his desk.

"OW, FUCK!" he shouted as his cigarette burnt his finger which had burnt to its end while he stared out the window.

He crushed it out in his super awesome dragon ash tray he found outside which was over flowing with cigarette butts, it reminded him of the rest of his apartment…shity.

"HEY JACK, SHUT UP!" shouted his roommate who he forgot the name of, it didn't matter since the guy was never here except for a place to sleep, he could be a woman for all he knew.

Instead of a clever come back, jack decided to leave it and looked at himself in the mirror. He had longish black hair going in all different ways, bags under dark green eyes and a big old bushy beard which he didn't know he had. With that done he lit a cigarette and went to bed hoping tomorrow to be more productive. Which was unlikely


	2. Chapter 2 bring him home

It was three in the afternoon and jack was still in bed, if he was living with his parents back in Ireland he would be killed for sleeping in so late. But he wasn't in Ireland; he was in America, land of the free. Ever since his teens he wanted to live here, not he wanted nothing more then to go home. It was hard being an forager in the states, some would say that the racist period was over but then again everyone who said that was from America so how should they know. Some of the racist remarks weren't on purpose most of the time but some of the stereotyping was annoying, like when people heard his accent would offer him a drink, most actually believed he was an alcoholic, well…he was, but it still wasn't right.

After think about that fact for an hour, he pride himself from his bed to try and practice for a wedding gig tomorrow, one of his least favoured gigs to do, ever since the time the bride asked him to play some falloutboy song he would make a rule to the employer that the set list was writing in stone and he would not take requests, after a nasty booing and a surnof bottle to the temple, he decided to prepare more.

Currently he was standing in front of a microphone covered with a pop filter in the middle of his sitting room, the bride requested "bring him home" which was his favourite song of all time.

The harp started, then the violins, one deep breath….

God on high  
Hear my prayer  
In my need  
You have always been there

He is young  
He's afraid  
Let him rest  
Heaven blessed.  
Bring him home  
Bring him home  
Bring him home.

He's like the son I might have known  
If God had granted me a son.  
The summers die  
One by one  
How soon they fly  
On and on  
And I am old  
And will be gone.

Bring him peace  
Bring him joy  
He is young  
He is only a boy

You can take  
You can give  
Let him be  
Let him live  
If I die, let me die  
Let him live  
Bring him home  
Bring him home  
Bring him home.

That last note was always a pain, but he was happy with that. Jack pulls out his carton of cigs, only to find one lonely stick of tar, "fuck".


	3. Chapter 3 the ID

A walk down a new York side walk is an interesting one, one would see all kinds of things like the homeless, a guy pissing on the footpath right in front of you, a dog taking a shit right in front of you, and my personal fav, a mother talking into a phone tape to her head, a cig in one hand and a knife in the other, all while not paying attention to her baby in its stroller, jack always wanted to push the stroller around to corner to scare the shit out of her to teach her a lesson. Never brought himself to do it thought.

It was a coldish day, so he wore his usual get up, hoodie, jean vest with metallica patches all over it, dallas cowboys hat he robed from school when he was 16, black jeans and black boots. His style hasn't changed for 6 years now, a little sad to be honest.

As jack approached the shop where he always bought his fags from (fags mean cigarettes in Europe so don't be offended when I use it for that reason please, I love gay people) he saw a new person behind the counter. He approached the boy, he was probably 15, 16 he didn't know so who cares.

"pack of marlboro red please" jack asked as he pulled out a twenty.

"I.D?" the boy asked, jack looked confused, he hadn't been I.D in years.

"what you mean I.D?" jack asked little offended.

"need to see your I.D If im going to sell you tobacco sir" he stated a little nervously.

"look at my beard!" jack said while pulling on it.

"sorry, no I.D, no tobacco" jack thought of something.

"MARY! COME OUT HERE WILL YA, TELL HIM IM LEGAL" jack shouted towards the back.

"she died two days ago" the boy said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"OH COME ON MAN, IM 23 FOR CHRIST SHAKE JUST LET ME BUY SOME FAGS!"

Everybody in the store went quite and turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

"excuse me?" a flamboyant voice said from the back of the store.

"it means cigarettes in Ireland" jack said in defence.

"oh ok" like that everybody forgot about it.

"Sorry sir you will have to try somewhere else" the boy said.

In defeat jack walked out of the shop, his lungs screamed for nicotine as he walked away.

"HAY, PADDY IRISH MAN, WATE UP!" he heard a voice shouted from behind, who the fuck thinks they could call him such an stereotypical title and not get a knee scraped or a pnich of the back of the arm. But when he saw who ran up to him, he was quick to forget.

"Hi"


End file.
